


What's Dead Should Stay Dead - The Naomi Edition

by Ainikki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, And life has no meaning, And why they saved Naomi instead of Hester makes no sense to me, Billie is right, Castiel has an existential crisis, Dean is a terrible influence, Death makes no sense in this universe, Gen, I'm forcing Gabriel's hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 06:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14611068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ainikki/pseuds/Ainikki
Summary: Castiel makes it the better part of five days before cornering Naomi--literally--in an empty sector of Heaven. He doesn't bother with the slow torment of the drill this time; the slash he makes to her neck is quick and clean.And then the lights go out.





	What's Dead Should Stay Dead - The Naomi Edition

**Author's Note:**

> Coda to 13.19. Because seriously, guys? *Seriously?*
> 
> This verges into crack, I think.

Naomi is alive, has been alive all this time. It's--impossible.

Except it's not, and killing her is out of the question. Castiel's personal nightmare does not outweigh the greater good of the billions of souls in Heaven. It doesn't. It _can't._

Castiel tells himself this for the better part of five days, avoiding her as much as possible. On the fifth day, he discovers the angel sitting on the throne of Heaven is Lucifer. 

Rather than risk a potentially fatal encounter with the angels--or Lucifer himself--Castiel retreats to the edge of Heaven and thinks. Lucifer is still an angel--an archangel, at that. That's probably why the other angels haven't killed him. Castiel won't be able to kill him, alone, without help--and if he manages it somehow, he'll still have the problem of how to keep the lights on for Heaven's souls.

Though the lights flicker terribly, Castiel risks a brief excursion back to the bunker. He needs advice.

 Sam lets him in, looking bewildered, jabbering something about where he's been and doesn't he get cell reception before Castiel shoulders him aside and closes the door. "I don't have long," he says. "I need your help."

Sam stops speaking and puts on his Very Serious Face, the one he'd developed as a studious teenager but honed as a soulless apocalypse survivor, and Castiel is motivated to say, "It's not as bad as that." Only maybe it is; he doesn't know. He has no idea how to deal with this problem. He wishes, sometimes, that dead people would stay that way. He wishes he'd thought to look for Naomi in the Empty, to verify that she was really dead. He wishes Lucifer wasn't a necessary evil--but it's too late for any of that now.

Sam goes to retrieve Dean, who appears more than a little sleep-deprived and slightly drunk. It's the middle of the night, so Castiel can only assume that the Winchesters have found no solution to the immediate crisis: Jack, Mary, Lucifer, the Michael of the alternate universe. When he puts that in perspective, his problems seem perilously petty, but perspective doesn't make it go away--or tell him what he should do about it.

He breaks the news about Naomi first, because that's easier, less world-shattering. Then he tells them about the dwindling number of angels, the impossibility of keeping the lights on without every single remaining one. The Winchesters stare at him for a moment when he's done, appearing stunned.

"You're kidding," Sam says. "That's--"

Sam seems just as much at a loss as Castiel is, which is vaguely comforting.

"So," Dean says, slapping one hand on the table, "when do we gank her?"

"Dean!" Sam says, almost a gasp, "if he does that, he'll ruin Heaven! The souls will--"

"--no one knows what will happen to the souls," Dean says. "Hell, they might be better off."

"Or we might have billions of ghosts to hunt down for the rest of eternity."

Dean seems to consider this for a moment. "Uh--job security?"

Sam rolls his eyes.

"It's also possible that Michael from the alternate universe will break through and destroy everything," Castiel says listlessly.

"Uh," Sam says, "was that a joke?"

Castiel wishes it was. "One more thing. Lucifer rules in Heaven."

The statement catches Dean in the middle of a sip of beer, with disastrous results for the table. "Lucifer is what now?"

Castiel nods. "What I said. He's an archangel. He might be the only thing keeping the lights on, and--"

"--and we need an archangel," Dean says. "Awesome. Sam, you got your APB out on Gabriel?"

Castiel sighs. "Gabriel won't help us." He'd killed Asmodeus, which is something, but Gabriel hasn't involved himself with the affairs of Heaven for a long time.

"Keep a happy thought, Cas." Dean gets up and claps Castiel on the shoulder, a companionable gesture that doesn't make Castiel feel any more hopeful. "All right, we've got holy oil, that Enochian spell--Cas, can you find the vessel? We'll set a trap."

Castiel blinks. "For what?"

"For _Gabriel_ , you dork. You go kill that bitch, and let Sam and I worry about the archangels." He turns to Sam. "Sammy?"

Sam lets out a slow breath. "Why would Gabriel help us?"

"He won't," Dean says, "but Lucifer tried to kill him. I doubt he's forgotten."

Sam nods, but he suddenly looks about ten years older and as sleep-deprived as Dean. "All right," Sam says, cleaning up the mess Dean made of the table with a flannel rag. "Here we go again."

Dean claps Castiel on the shoulder one more time, then vanishes into the doorway behind him, calling, "Tell that bitch we said hi!"

"Dude," Sam calls back.

"What?" Dean asks. 

And Castiel is gone, back to Heaven.

***

He corners Naomi--literally--in an empty sector of Heaven; no angels around, and the only ones he can feel are too far away to stop him. As Castiel advances on her, blade out, brain switched firmly off, she pleads for the greater good of the souls in that annoyingly calm way she has, but he doesn't hear. He hears the sound of the drill, the sound of her voice telling him to murder Dean and Samandriel and his own brothers and sisters. It's just as much her fault that they're in this situation as his, if not more.

He doesn't bother with the slow torment of the drill this time; the slash he makes to her neck is quick and clean, her Grace fading quickly, absorbing into the walls in a brilliant flash of white light.  
  
And then the lights go out.

He calls Sam.

"Cas? He asks. "You okay?"

"It's done," he says, "she's dead." He feels relief, but no pleasure at being left in the dark. At possibly condemning innocent souls for his revenge. 

Peace and freedom have always been his choices; he supposes it shouldn't be a surprise that he'd chosen freedom again.

Dim light flashes overhead, and he hears a tinny, irritating sound like a smoke alarm; it seems there's still a little power left. He feels his remaining six brothers and sisters (sans Lucifer) getting closer, and knows he has to move.

"Holy shit, you actually did it!" Dean's voice comes on the line over the phone, sounding weirdly happy. "I'm proud of you, man!"

"Thanks," Castiel says tonelessly, "but that doesn't solve the problem. The lights are still out, and I--" He pauses. "Do you have the spell ready?"

"Yes," Sam says. "You got the vessel?"

Castiel stretches his wings, searching for the signal of an archangel vessel on earth. "I think so."

"Cas?" Sam asks, sounding worried. "Get here."

"Right," he says. "I'll call you back." He hangs up and flashes to earth, to the last known location of the vessel of the Archangel Gabriel.

***

Castiel flashes to the vessel. The man he had found is not the Trickster version of Gabriel, but a deaf-mute man in a mental hospital; Castiel gathers, from reading his memories, that he thinks he can talk to angels, which means he's not actually crazy at all. He'd put the man to sleep before transport, because he's caused enough damage to human souls for one day. When the man is seated on a chair inside the ring of holy oil, Castiel is able to make the incantation into the vessel's ear: "Rah ah gah ee oh es."  


Fortunately, it doesn't take long for Gabriel to appear. "Dude, this is like slumming," Gabriel says, complaining. "The hell do you want?"

Castiel takes a step back, igniting the holy oil around the archangel, and Gabriel's eyebrow rises. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," Castiel says. "Heaven is--is--" He doesn't know how to explain it. It's not falling; it's done that. It's not broken, exactly--it's--  


"Look," Sam says, "we know you can put out the oil and get out of here, but, please, hear us out."

"Heaven has lost power," he says. "The angels--they're dead. Only a few left and the lights are going out, and I --"

"--need God juice," Gabriel says. "Gotcha. I'll handle it." He snaps his fingers, and the fire goes out. He moves the limbs of the deaf-mute man stiffly, uncomfortably, but he doesn't look like he's about to smite anyone so Castiel takes that as a positive sign.  


Castiel swallows thickly, and says, "All right, but there's one thing you should know."

***

Gabriel approaches the throne of Heaven, dimness changing to flickering lights then changing again to warm bright technicolor as he moves. As the throne comes into closer view, he sees Lucifer's vessel sprawled out on it in a posture of apathy or disdain; it's not clear with his face hidden.

"Yo, asshole," Gabriel calls. "You're in my chair."

Lucifer looks up, smile playing at the edges of his mouth. His eyes glow a deep, deep red. 

**Author's Note:**

> Naomi was permanently harmed during the production of this story.


End file.
